The Portrait
by Meandrina
Summary: Hermione has returned to the magical world. She comes across a portrait in the Malfoy Manor and decides to investigate. Strange events occur in the following days which lead her to believe that she might be delving into tricky business. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: New story time! This one is going to be a bit different from my other fics, which have mostly been Dramione centric.**

**Hope you like it!**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Luna was adorably overdressed when Hermione met up with her in the lawn. She was wearing layered dress robes the colour of eggplants and silver muggle-style wedge sandals. Her trusty Spectrespecs were perched above her forehead, and objects which appeared to be miniature hats dangled from each of her earlobes. Everyone assigned in the team was wearing their generic ministry approved Protective gloves, but Luna had customized hers to appear metallic silver. Peter Pettigrew's nasty face flashed through her mind, and feeling uncomfortable, Hermione looked away from her hands.

"Hello, Hermione!"

"Hey there, Luna. Look at you! You seem pretty excited."

"Oh, I am. But I still wish they would've let me explore the gardens."

"I can speak to Dougharty if you want," said Hermione. "He's not as grouchy as everyone says he is."

"No, you don't have to," Luna said with a smile, "I will figure something out."

Hermione shook her head and gestured at her friend to start walking towards the Manor. Luna had been assigned the House Elf Division but she knew she would eventually find a way to sneak into the grounds.

The day was so perfect that Hermione wanted to spend it entirely outdoors, sit in the overgrown grass and play with the butterflies. One would've hardly expected such pretty, non-magical creatures to reside on the Malfoy property, but apparently someone had been sane enough to plant a spectacular rose garden; probably Narcissa. They fluttered around from person to person, apparently finding the team more interesting than the midnight blue roses that were in full bloom. She could imagine why that was so, the soil reeked heavily of Dark magic even to this day. She'd checked it herself. In any case, she would have to spend the day and the following months strictly indoors. She was going to lose all her tan from Australia.

It was the first day of the project, and nearly everyone was gathered in front of the looming structure; a preparatory batch of officials had ventured inside at first and had returned a few minutes ago to declare it safe enough to enter. Hermione, unlike Luna and most of the other members of the team, had appeared two hours early to do her own personal preparation, albeit more of the mental nature. She'd had a look around the perimeter but did not go inside the manor itself, somehow not finding herself brave enough to go alone. It had been such a long time since she'd last been here, but her memory was still crystal clear. On some nights, when she'd had a little more wine than usual or felt strange and melancholy, she'd wake up to the sound of Bellatrix screaming in her ears.

The in-charge of the team was a surly looking wizard appearing to be in his mid-fifties. Cyrus Dougharty was a top-level curse breaker who was going to be overlooking the whole project. He was Ministry appointed, and he ran his own successful private business, while everybody else in the team was a Ministry employee. He was perpetually tired, which would explain the not-nearly-loud-enough voice he was currently using to lecture the team of fifty which had gathered beneath the marble stairs. He hadn't even thought to use _Sonorus_; a possible side effect of having to deal with much more powerful spells on a daily basis.

Hermione couldn't remember what exactly had been going inside her mind when she decided to sign-up for the Malfoy Manor refurbishment project, but having returned from Australia with her parents two months ago had left her itching for something to do. So when Kingsley Shacklebolt had announced that the Malfoy Manor was going to be opened publicly as a visiting site six months from now, she had hastily applied to be a part of it.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had personally called Dougharty and introduced them, promptly suggesting for Hermione to be made a part of the team. Dougharty had appeared wary; she had nothing to show for her competence save for a Hogwarts education and a messy war; but since he could not directly say no to the Minister of Magic, he'd agreed. That was one of the few times when Hermione had been grateful for the war hero special treatment. She had just returned from Australia after spending two years looking for her parents and later reviving their memories, so she hadn't had the time to get used to it like Harry and Ron did. It always took her by surprise and never failed to irritate her.

"You see anybody from Hogwarts?" She asked Luna.

"I know that Padma is going be here, but I haven't seen her yet."

"There's Ernie Macmillan...and I think that's Susan," said Hermione craning her neck.

She might not know many people out here, but everyone seemed to know who she was, as they made way for her to pass through, smiling and nodding at her as she went. By the time she made it to the front, he had finished with his precautionary speech.

Looking sideways at her friend, she said, "Are you sure you're going to be okay, Luna?" She had spent more time here than Hermione had.

"Of course, in fact I'm going to the cellar before I go meet the elves. I want to see if the sketches I carved are still there. You want to come?"

"Uh..okay," she replied, thinking of the chain-linked faces of themselves which they'd seen painted on her room's wall, so long ago. "I'll come, but we'll make it quick."

They had entered through the doors of the Manor and Hermione hadn't even noticed it. She glanced upwards and then wondered how she'd ever missed it. The entrance hall was an atrium with a goliath ellipsoid dome that appeared to have been made entirely of crystal. A large gothic style chandelier hung from the center to reach halfway of the hall's height. Hundreds of silver Hippogriff heads hung from it like fat balls of metal, with their tongues curling outwards to end into tall holders the width of her upper arms. She could only hope they'd held candles and not anything else.

Her pulse had quickened and she didn't even know why. The place appeared in to be in pristine condition, there was plenty of daylight coming in and not even any mice were scuttling about. But as she turned to her right, she got her answer: a life-sized portrait was hung on the wall depicting the form of a middle-age wizard who she assumed must be Abraxas Malfoy. He was tall and lean, having the characteristic white-blond hair and a nose that could cut glass. And he was staring at her. The wizards must have done a thorough job of it; because nobody shouted "mudblood" like they had three years ago when she was getting dragged through here at wandpoint.

She turned away before he could start a conversation with her about why his ancestral home was being turned into a freaking interactive museum or why he possibly thought she appeared familiar.

Looking around, she realized that most of the team had set out for their own individual tasks, the only ones who lingered were the Conditioners: wizards and witches assigned with the task of conditioning the portraits in order to make sure they uttered what they wanted them to utter six months from now. It would be a tad uncomfortable if there were an ongoing chorus of death threats and swear words with people milling about in the halls. A time-consuming and draining job, no doubt.

Her own job, however, was much less important and much more enjoyable. Well, it was for her. She was supposed to scour the Malfoy library, go through thousands of invaluable texts and books and make sure they contained no lethal magic, pluck out unsafe manuscripts and restore the old ones. In short, make it fit for public viewing. That she had the whole job and sole access for her own self was a major advantage.

She realized that Luna had took off on her own, and most probably forgotten to take her along. Privately though, she was relieved. She'd rather not go down into the dark underbelly of this place. As it was, she had no idea where she was going. She wished she'd listened to Dougharty earlier, or brought a map along at the very least. Getting a map of the most intricate pureblood mansion in the country, however, was not going to be easy.

She wandered through the dark corridors, her feet making reassuring sounds as they connected with the carpeted floors. It was highly unlikely that she was going to get herself lost in this mansion; she had her wand on the ready and all she had to do was cast a spell, but she couldn't help but call hello every other minute in the fear of getting swallowed into the abyss of some unknown magic.

"Voldemort once walked through these halls," she whispered absently to herself, feeling goose bumps rise on her skin. _Well, he walked through Hogwarts too, and that was hardly scary._

This was. She didn't know if it was the rusty smell, or the shadows passing over the baroque architecture, but it scared her a little bit. Normal houses made sounds, but other than her breaths and footsteps, there was none here.

Well, sooner or later she'd get used to it. She had to.

Entering a room which was completely dark, she finally decided to put her wand at use. _"Lumos"_

There was a sudden blinding light which completely covered her field her vision, almost bringing her down to her knees. Her eyes formed into the narrowest of slits so she didn't hurt them, she cast a cautious look around.

The room was full of mirrors. She stood at the doorway, illuminated from all sides as her pale-faced image reflected back at her, seemingly mocking her for her little fright. Mirrors of all sizes covered the walls, even the low hanging roof. Framed in elaborate antique frames, half broken, tea spoon sized, curved and plane – all kinds of shiny mirrors could be seen from her vantage point. Standing inside this little cage of infinity was beginning to freak her out, so she backed away into the hallway.

_Bad idea, bad idea. _Her mind continued to chant in a never ending, unnecessary loop.

She opened the next door she encountered anyway. This one was completely ordinary, the kind for which she'd seen a likeness appear in hundreds of muggle movies. It seemed to be a storage room of sorts with broken furniture, wooden cupboards, coat hangers and clubs stacked haphazardly against the walls. For some reason, seeing such a collection inside the Malfoy Manor caused her to giggle.

She caught the sudden movement from the corner of her eyes and her heart nearly seized.

It was him.

He was looking in all directions, but his eyes seemed unable to find the source of the noise that he'd heard, but _she_ could see him very clearly.

She approached slowly, her first instinct telling her not to startle him for some unfathomable reason. His portrait was flung next to a wooden desk, thrown away like trash.

Lowering herself down on her knees, she stared into the eyes of Draco Malfoy, a boy that she had known a lifetime ago.

A boy who had teased and insulted her on numerous occasions.

A boy who'd been the instigator to the downfall of the greatest wizard alive.

A boy who had been dead for three years.

It was strange to be staring into the eyes of someone she knew to be dead, and even stranger to see his pupils flare behind the canvas as his eyes focused on her.

Her heart was beating a million miles per minute, but she brought herself to recall basic civility.

"Malfoy," she breathed.

His face was void of all emotion. He was blank, uninspiring and lifeless. Dead. She was certain that he wasn't going to reply. But surprises appeared to be the theme of the day.

"Granger."

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**Please let me know what you thought!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

As it turns out, there is not much you can say to a painting, and there's virtually nothing that you can say to a painting of somebody who's dead.

'_How's it going?'_

'_How are you?'_

'_It's been a long time, where are you these days?"_

'_War was a drag buddy, no hard feelings.'_

Hermione found herself in a similar situation now as she continued to stare at him, wracking her brains to say anything that wouldn't sound completely ludicrous. She needn't have bothered, because she said the first thing on her mind anyway.

"How did you die?"

Draco Malfoy, who'd been watching her as she gathered her thoughts with a dark expression on his face, looked absolutely furious now.

"Why are you here, Mudblood?" He bit out.

She raised an eyebrow at the word, hackles already raised, but eventually decided to ignore the jab because being a mudblood was better than being _dead, _and she knew he knew that_. _She was surprised at how strongly she wanted to rub it in his face; _she_ who was normally a morally sound person.

"Oh, didn't you hear? Your house is getting turned into a visiting site." She sniffed, looking around at the room. "Though now I wonder why anyone would want to visit your deceased lot, considering the state of this place."

"That's not possible," he said flatly, "This manor was never subject to ministry control. My father – "

" – will hear about this?" She asked. _Not bloody likely._

"No, you stupid bint! He made a stipulation in his will that if in case the Malfoy line does not survive, the manor will assuredly be passed on to the nearest relative – "

"Who is..?"

"Andromeda Tonks!" He exclaimed, as if that was blindingly obvious.

"Oh, well. I will make sure to enquire about it, but you didn't tell me – "

Her next words were interrupted by the sound of a massive crash. It seemed to have come from outside, so she started towards the exit. Opening the door, she almost walked right into someone.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Miss!", the elf squeaked.

Hand on her chest, Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. She hadn't expected this project to turn out half as unpredictable, and this was when she hadn't even started on her job.

"It's alright, it was my fault. What was that noise?"

The elf widened her tennis-ball sized eyes.

"Noise, Miss? Bitsy heard no noise!"

"No? But it was just here. It sounded as if something had broken."

But Bitsy had just caught sight of the door behind her and she looked as if she'd seen a ghost. Her ears flattened against her skull as her eyes darted in every direction.

"Miss, that room is out of bounds! It's very, very dangerous. You mustn't go there, you mustn't!", she spoke in a very small, hushed voice, causing every hair on the back of her neck to stand up on its end.

"Er – why is it out of bounds?"

She had immediately clamped her yellow teeth over her mouth in what looked to be a very painful manner.

"Whoa, ok. It's fine. No need to – "

Bitsy looked more pained with each word that Hermione spoke. Just when she thought that the poor elf was going to faint from the ordeal, she blurted:

"Dark magic belongs in that room! You mustn't place yourself in danger, Miss! It is full of dark things!"

"Really? It didn't look like dark magic. Just a bunch of old furniture," said Hermione uncertainly, not mentioning the portrait for some reason.

"I'm forbidden to disclose anything, Miss," she said, the tray full of pots rattling in her small, bony hands, "Bitsy will have to punish herself! But do not cross into that room! Never!"

Hermione stared at the elf, a bit dazed from her warning. She was younger than the elves she'd seen in her lifetime, obviously not senile…and she looked dead scared of something. Was getting carried away in the moment worth jeopardizing the first day of the project? Surely the caustic words coming out of one Draco Malfoy's painted mouth could wait.

"Alright, Bitsy. I'll be keeping that in mind," She extended her hand, but retracted it on catching sight of the load of dishes in both of her hands. "I'm Hermione, by the way. I'm going to be working in the library from this day onwards. Care to tell me where it is?"

The elf was all too happy to be giving the directions towards the Malfoy library and Hermione finally decided to get on with her job.

* * *

She could recall a time during her school days when she used to spend a few minutes staring at Draco Malfoy – a time when she'd barely started seeing any boy in the same light as she did Professor Lockhart – how he would sometimes look at the people around him as if they were automatically inferior. She had first noticed it in her second year, even before he'd ever started calling her that horrible name. And it couldn't have been because of their _blood _because he looked at his friends in much the same manner; she'd guessed that it was something that came with being the sole heir to the oldest and most prosperous magical family in the entire country. She hadn't understood it then. She just couldn't see how getting randomly born into a rich family gave you the right to look down on other people. So, you got dealt a lucky hand, that didn't make you a God.

Then as she'd grown older, she started seeing things as they truly were. She saw how it was not necessarily a _lucky _hand, how it came with a heavy price, and how being rich and pureblooded still made you human enough to cry in a bathroom as you were hounded by a madman to do his bidding, and that too just for a laugh. Draco Malfoy had oscillated from one extreme to the other in the time that she'd known him, and everywhere in between – with his bullying, cruelty, arrogance, deceit, shame and helpless misery – but he'd never once lost that profound sense of superiority.

Now standing between tall shelves filled to the brim with rich magical history, she understood where a little bit of _that _came from. If she'd had a library half the size of this one, she'd feel like the luckiest person on Earth. She'd feel like she'd been handed over a legacy that was literally centuries old, and she would have done virtually anything to hold on to it, to protect it, cherish it.

All this didn't belong to Draco Malfoy, _he _belonged to all of it.

Or _had_ belonged, to be exact.

Her mind still couldn't the hang of it, the idea of him having been dead all this time. She'd learnt it three years ago through an email from Harry – muggle communication had seemed quick, reliable and relatively safe during the post war period. But it was also probably why it never fully registered.

'_..and you'd probably be shocked to know of this, but Draco and Lucius Malfoy both died two days ago. Ministry is trying to hush it all up, and there's been talk of some curse involved, but between you and me, the whole thing stinks of foul play, and one of Voldemort's more ardent supporters is to blame. Lestrange is my best guess, but Ginny says no because he's still in Azkaban. What do you think? Shouldn't be too hard for a man like that to orchestrate a murder from behind bars if you ask me... Anyway, any lead on your parents yet?.."_

There had been none, and she'd given that mail barely half a minute of contemplation; she'd gotten used to hearing about deaths, and at that time she'd been primarily worried for her parents' lives and scared to death over the possibility of losing them forever.

Now she wondered why she was so surprised. The Malfoy manor stood bereft of it owners, ready to be converted into a Ministry owned landmark, and she had no idea why.

Glancing at the books around her for possible answers, she lowered into the ground. Her hands reached off their own accord to pluck a book from the shelf, driven partly by habit and partly by the otherworldly magic of the manor as it called to her, whispering words from a forgotten language.

She knew this place had probably been constructed to spurn her kind – but sitting on her knees, her head lowered in unexpected reverence, she could've sworn that it was accepting her as its own.

* * *

At five minutes past six o'clock, a highly flustered Ginny walked into the Leaky Cauldron. Peeping from her overflowing bag was the lime-green healers' robe encrusted with the St. Mungo's emblem.

"_One _more time, and I swear I'll murder you," she began, sliding into the chair opposite her, "Wands 'n Willows is a perfectly nice pub and guess what? _Right _next to St. Mungo's, but no… prodigal daughter Hermione Granger has to drag me fifty miles away into this sorry establishment, and just because."

Hermione bit down on a grin, as she idly circled the rim of her bottle with a finger. "All you have to do is Apparate."

"..which drains almost half my energy by the time I get back," she said matter-of-factly, then curled her fingers around the chilled bottle of butterbeer, "but thanks for this."

Once they had finished most of their drinks, Ginny began.

"So. How was your first day?"

Hermione thought about it.

"It was… interesting."

The redhead cocked her head to side, "I know what that means… it means there's no chance for you to get any action."

"Ginevra Weasley!"

"Tell me then, name one guy who caught your eye."

"Well, I didn't really get a chance to meet anybody apart from Luna, and I worked alone for the rest of the day."

Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"I _wanted _to work alone," Hermione explained.

"Hmm. And why are you doing this, again?"

She let out a long drawn sigh.

"We've been through this. I can't just _not _do something. You're an Apprentice Mediwitch, Ron's doing great in his Quidditch, and Harry – "

" – is very interested in what you're going to say next," came a voice. Hermione looked up to see the lanky form of a very amused Harry Potter settle in right next to his girlfriend.

"I was going to say 'getting pretty bigheaded'," she quipped.

He laughed, before turning sideways to peck Ginny lightly on the cheek.

Harry had joined the Auror Training Programme, just like he'd always intended to, but it hadn't gotten off to a very good start. He hadn't been able to pass the first few tests in the initial year, and after a difficult couple of months, he'd had to retake the beginner's course to get on the right track. Harry jokingly said that he was failing now because she wasn't by his side letting him sail through as easily, like she'd done at Hogwarts, but Hermione suspected it was something else. It was the void of magical ability that Voldemort's soul had left when it had fled Harry's body. So he was going to have to work just a little bit harder. But now he was showing significant progress, and was on his way to become a very successful Auror.

"Harry, I needed to ask you something."

"Go on."

She pushed her bottle away.

"What's the Malfoys' story? I mean, what exactly happened there?"

Harry rubbed his eyes, probably tired. "I'm not really sure, Hermione. Nobody is. The Malfoy's have just… poof. Gone. Vanished off the face of the Earth."

"But you said they were murdered."

"I _suspected _they were, but I'm not too sure now. There wasn't any planned investigation. All I know is that Lucius Malfoy dropped dead during his trial, right in the middle of the Wizengamot and I was there. Some say that he was cursed by someone in the audience, or possibly the jury but the more I think of it, the more I'm starting to realize that it was just a good ole' heart attack, a subject which I frankly think…", he glanced towards Ginny, "..the magical world is still in dark about."

"But what about Draco?"

He looked down uncomfortably into his drink.

"His body was discovered in Hogwarts some days after. Cause of death was unknown, as nobody was there to witness it. He had a separate room to himself, you see. He'd returned to complete his seventh year."

Something clenched tightly inside of her, and she felt incensed all of a sudden. She didn't know why.

"Doesn't that seem the slightest bit suspicious to you?," she said, " - and why on earth has the Ministry completely ignored it for so long?"

"Hermione…it's the Malfoys," began Ginny, "...the common citizenry was all too happy to get rid of them, and the last thing they would've wanted to do was investigate a dead-end case when there's an entire new world to build ahead of them."

"But don't the dead deserve justice? Doesn't his mother – " she stopped dead, "Wait – what about Narcissa? What happened to her?"

"Well, she didn't take their deaths especially well."

_No shit._

"You mean she's alive? What are they doing then, taking their manor under custody?! Where's she?"

They both shared a glance.

"She's been living in the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo's for the past two years," said Ginny.

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**Please tell me what you thought!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Ron entered through the door before Hermione could enquire any further about the Malfoys. Clutching his arm was a pretty redheaded girl with large, starstruck eyes. As they made their way towards their table, Hermione felt her mood darken just a shade, but she quickly decided to play nice. The pair were stopped several times by the small crowd that seemed to have gathered in the pub after having caught wind of the Trio's reunion. Some sought the star Keeper's autograph and some were just looking for a chance to ogle his gorgeous date. This kind of attention was precisely what she'd wanted to stay away from, but ever since Ron had earned the much coveted Keeper's position for the Chudley Cannons he'd become even more popular than Harry.

While Harry had chosen to go down the more subdued route for handling his heightened fame, preferring to maintain a low profile due to all the responsibilities that came with being an Auror, Ron had embraced the lifestyle with open arms. He gave regular loquacious interviews to the Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet, attended every party, dated any pretty girl that struck his fancy and played a mean game of Quidditch. Arthur and Molly, contrary to what she would have expected from them three years ago, encouraged his self-indulgent habits. Nobody was willing to hold that against them, not even Hermione; the Weasley's were finally coming out of their nondescript, almost poverty-stricken lives.

Introductions were made and Hermione chose to smile politely and look resolutely into her glass while the rest of them made small talk.

The girl was French and her name was Adeline. She said very little and appeared to be extremely sweet, but even someone as out of touch with things as she had been could tell that the pair of them shared no deeper connection. If Ron hadn't been so preoccupied with gauging Hermione's reaction to everything he said, he might have noticed the looks filled with longing that Adeline kept sending his way.

Both of them hadn't yet resolved their issues, but she'd now accepted the fact that there was nothing left to talk about. Their lives were now laid out in front of them, swerving in completely different paths. Ron had heavily resented her going away for such a long time, and she hadn't had the patience to explain that she was the one who was being left essentially alone in this, while _he_ chose to stay back surrounded with his family and fans. She had supported his decision to remain in England and look after his grieving family, and only expected some understanding in return for her own decision to leave, after all that they'd been through. But apparently that had been too much to ask of him.

Now that she was here, they had reached at an impasse. It was going to take a long time for them to reconcile and for things to go back the way they had been at Hogwarts.

When she could finally take it no more, she bid her friends goodbye explaining that there were preparations to be made for the project. As in that moment, surrounded by friends she believed to be her closest, it was the only thing keeping her afloat in this new reality.

* * *

The next morning, people were finally taking the time to introduce themselves to her. She managed it all in a fairly good manner, but eventually came to realize that her meagre possession of people skills had gone rusty. They were expecting her to delineate the events which led her to heroically save her parents from the evil clutches of the Death Eaters, but seemed disappointed when she told them how it had only been possible through muggle means that she had managed to find them, living properly mundane lives of Wendell and Monica Wilkins.

At fifteen minutes past ten, Hermione entered the Malfoy library. In the previous night she had decided that she was going to come to a self-verified conclusion about the strange disappearance of Malfoy's from the wizarding world. For the most part, she was going to work on the task she was assigned but she'd take a few hours out to do her own bit of investigation. It was going to require some meticulous planning, not to mention deflecting any possible intruders or brown nosers that might interfere. For this she would have to draw up a schedule which would allow her to access the first floor on the West wing with minimal contact with anybody.

Today she was going to work here till two o'clock, and then slink away unnoticed into that room after lunch. For now she was going stay put in the library and work hard.

The Malfoy's library was different from the one's she'd seen in many ways. The first thing one registered was the fact that there was no trace of dust on the books or the shelves; in fact the entire place seemed free of any earthen particles. It might have been the work of the elves but Hermione was willing to bet that there was some old, elaborate charm in place. Another thing that stuck out the most was the sheer size of the establishment. It spanned six floors and roughly the square meter coverage of four Olympic sized football stadiums – Expansion charms had evidently been enforced to their maximum potential by the medieval architects. Also, the books were arranged according to the year of publishing and not alphabetically, so the shelves dated back to as far as 900 AD.

Because the Malfoys had been said to be at their magical prime in the 1700s, she decided to start from there.

She'd been deeply immersed in the very first book that she'd picked – a memoir – when she received her first visitor.

"So, the stories bear some truth after all. Famous Hermione Granger actually enjoys this."

She looked up to see a tall man grinning down at her. He appeared to be near her age, and his quick, intelligent blue eyes twinkled as they took her in, surrounded by a small pile of books.

"I'm afraid I do," she admitted, as she took the hand he'd offered in assistance to stand up.

"Name's Alex, by the way. Alex Whitfield," he said. "Extremely pleased to meet you."

She looked up at him curiously.

"Hundred percent a muggle name, I know," he smiled, "I happen to be muggleborn."

"That explains it," she said. "Anything in particular that you need, Mr. Whitfield?"

"Please call me Alex. And I'm only here on an errand. Mr. Dougharty would like to meet you in his office."

_Okay, that was quick. _She had barely started.

"What for?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure it's just an introductory thing," he said, subtly taking in her guarded expression.

"Very well, then. Where can I find him?"

He smiled again.

"Please let me escort you."

* * *

Alex was a part of the curse-breaking unit, second in command to Dougharty. He'd lived his whole life in England, but had completed the last three years of his education from Durmstrang. He was an extremely charming conversationalist, and Hermione found herself laughing one too many times as they made their way down to his office. It was only when reached the door and he bid her goodbye that she realized how skilled he was at drawing out any information. But he didn't appear to harbour any malicious intent - only curiosity, so she let it go.

She entered the study which Dougharty had temporarily designated as his private functioning office. Already it had turned into the standard kind of Ministry owned territory, judging by the way random artefacts were spread on the wooden floor and colourful memos scattered on every surface.

The man himself was standing next to the desk, both palms flattened over what looked to be the mansion map. He looked up when she entered.

"Miss Granger. Please do come in," he said, "I'd invite you to take a seat but it's a little cluttered around here."

Alex had been right – there was no trace of suspicion in his gaze as he took off his reading glasses to give her his attention.

"How are you settling in, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"It's been very interesting, sir. I'm really looking forward to it."

He nodded. "Good, that is good. I have heard of your credentials at Hogwarts, Miss Granger, despite the fact that you gave your NEWTs without having attended the full academic year. McGonagall seems to be especially fond of you, and I completely trust her judgment," he explained.

"So I want to assure you that I have no doubt about your capabilities considering what you have achieved at such a young age. But these kinds of projects require thorough experience. Therefore I hope you won't begrudge me of having handed you the task of the library and the archives."

"Oh, no, you misunderstand, sir. I'm enjoying it very much. Libraries hold a special place in my heart, and Malfoy's is as fascinating as it's vast."

He nodded again, seemingly satisfied.

"Well, that is settled then. I presume that you'd require no assistance from the rest of the task force, but should the need arise at any time, do not hesitate to ask."

"Of course. I'll keep that in mind."

"Good, that's very good," he appeared to have reached the end of this discussion and was looking for a way to politely send her off. Kingsley had obviously put in an extra word in her absence.

"Mr. Dougharty, I couldn't help but notice that there are certain rooms in the manor filled with old furniture and all kinds of junk. So I was wondering what place there're going to hold in this project."

"Oh, indeed. Let me see…"

He put on his reading glasses and glanced down at the map in front of him. Hermione had already taken note of the map placement of the room she'd encountered yesterday. That and six others in different parts of the manor had been crossed out and marked as 'invalid' which was just ministry speak for 'useless'.

"These rooms merely seem to be auxiliary spaces, all big mansions have them. Yes, I remember discussing these…the ministry is going to clear them out before the inauguration, turn them into monitoring cells of sorts. I'm in the favour of sealing them off, but some think that they might serve as excellent surveillance quarters for the Ministry when this place is open and running. In any case, they're of no use now."

She rejoiced internally. There was no dark magic. Still, she was going to make sure of it herself and it was good to know that she had her way cleared out for her. For now, all her focus seemed to be concentrated on that portrait, and the means of securing it as her own quarry.

"Thank you, sir. I'll keep you updated."

With a slight spring in her step, she saw herself out.

* * *

She entered the room at ten minutes past two. It was pitch dark, and she made no sound. She had already Disillusioned herself.

A part of her was hoping for him to be absent from his frame, but the bigger, crazier part wanted him to be there. To give her the answers without her having to look for them.

Her feet skidded just a little bit on the floor, and she mentally berated herself. Even if the man himself was no more in this world, it still felt like she was sneaking into his room. She tried her best not to disturb him if was here.

So, she was not very proud of herself for screaming like a little girl when his voice pierced smoothly into the silence.

"Miss me, Granger?"

* * *

**Please tell me what you thought!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Hermione swore inwardly. _Damn him!_

She hovered at the threshold for a while, trying to decide her next course of action, but even in the dark of the room she could make out the haughty set of his features. Finally, she let go of her disillusionment charm and lighted the tip of her wand to brighten the room.

Draco Malfoy was lying bent and lopsided next to the same wooden desk she'd found yesterday. Gone was the sour arrogance, the tight clasp of his mouth – he looked downright cheerful to see her.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked. Pretense had never been her forte.

"I see better from this side of the world."

"Really? Or am I the only person to have visited this putrid hovel in ages?"

"I see you haven't lost your timeless charm, Granger."

"And in your case, Malfoy, the ability to make eerily astute observations."

"What brings you here though?" he asked, the '_again' _obviously implied in that trademark smirk.

Her bravado was slipping. She had to play this right. She trusted him as far as she could throw him, and it was undoubtedly the same for him. It was crucial that she pick the right words.

"I have to be honest with you. I got curious."

He stared at her.

Conversely, she stared into him.

Out of all his features, the painter had seemed to have conferred the most justice to his slate grey eyes. They flitted over her face, acutely intelligent – rendering his otherwise unexceptional impression almost alive. His hair was parted to the side in that aristocratic manner characteristic of the rich and pure blooded. The deep emerald jacket was fitted to his chest, adorned with rows of silver buttons and a high necked collar, complete with a black wizards' robe. He was seated on a large upholstered chair with extravagantly detailed artwork – goblin crafted, no doubt. His long legs were pushed out leisurely in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Dangling from one hand was his wand – Hawthorne, she believed. The right hand was propped beneath his chin, index finger planted alongside the line of his jaw. Even in death, Draco Malfoy was literally the picture of self-importance.

"About what?"

"Well," she began guardedly, "I trust you know that the Malfoy Manor is in ministry hands now. I have no idea for how long it has been in their grasp, but six months from now it will be opened for the common folk. I was gone for a couple of years, you see. And I…I just want to know what happened."

He twirled his wand between his fingers, apparently trying to gauge her sincerity.

"I don't know."

_What?_

"You don't know – ?" she said, raising her brows disbelievingly.

"It's true, Granger. I haven't a fucking clue."

"Come on. How can you _possibly _not know how you died?"

He shrugged. "I am but a portrait."

"Portraits derive their subject's mannerisms and memory as a rule," she said, dismissively.

He shrugged again.

"Do you remember the events before that?" she pressed.

"Hazily."

"Well, try to recall it. I can help you, I _want_ to help you."

Abruptly his face clouded over with hostility. _Wrong words._

"You're a sanctimonious bitch, Granger. You always were. You think you can help me? You do? Fantastic. Let's start with this simple fact – I'm already dead. It would be just like you to disguise that meddlesome curiosity of yours with a misguided desire to _help _me."

"But – "

"There's nothing you can do. Not a single thing! My life ended at seventeen. All I got to witness in my life was a slit faced nutcase with a god complex take control of my family and play _crucio _at the next sorry victim, and the best part? I dabbled too. I was taught by the best. I saw their fingers claw at my floor, saw the whites of their eyes turn red and bleed onto their faces. You've been there, Granger. My father was there. My mother too – "

"But Narcissa – " she began.

"Don't," he bit out. His face was screwed up in hatred, nostrils flared – as if the mention of his mother drew a deep visceral response from his person.

"Your mother is alive, Malfoy!"

The cheeks which had gone flush with all that emotion paled slightly at the news.

"Shut your mouth."

"I'm being completely serious."

His breaths were coming fast and shallow; the picture perfect poise had shattered. He didn't know. He didn't know a freaking thing.

"I asked my friends. Ginny Weasley works at St. Mungo's. Your mother is alive and has been a resident of the Janus Thickey ward of the mentally injured for the past two years."

He looked at her for several long seconds, watching but not seeing. She waited for him to digest the news. Eventually, he spoke.

"But the house . . I had no idea how. ."

"This is what amazes me. I've been around this place and this is the only portrait of yours which I've come across, and it's hidden in a pile of rubbish. And by the way you startled yesterday, I knew you were as ignorant of the magical world as I have been for the past three years."

He was staring blankly at her. She felt sorry for him. But then, she'd always felt sorry for him.

"So I want to know what happened, Malfoy. What was it that killed you and your father at the same time? Did you have any enemies?"

He took the time to send one exasperated look her way.

"Right. That was silly of me.. You've had enemies aplenty. But you have to give me something."

He glanced at her warily.

"We didn't die at the same time, not even the same day. I knew of my father's death. It was in the Prophet that morning. He died many hours before I apparently did."

"Do you have any idea how he did?"

"I'm not sure. They said he was cursed during the trial, but there wasn't any flash of green light. He collapsed in the middle of the Wizengamot and all they said that how easy was the manner that death eventually got to him, that although mysterious, they'd have wanted for it to be more _deserving." _He spat.

This was probably not the time to say that she agreed with them.

"So it was some kind of curse which led to his spontaneous demise. No questions asked, I'm assuming there wasn't even any primary investigation. With all the Death eaters being rounded off and sentenced to death, I'm not surprised at how carelessly your father's was treated at that time. He was just another bad apple. But then there's you."

He looked up at her.

"You were at Hogwarts completing your final year, correct?"

"I was on probation, yes. Underage and just of age wizards' trials were being conducted at the very beginning. Merely three months after the battle of Hogwarts, I was re-entering my seventh year."

"Just you?"

"No. There were ten from our year, but we shared few to no classes. I was confined to a separate room on the sixth floor in order to – ", he stopped suddenly, his grey eyes staring warily into hers.

"To what?"

"To prevent getting targeted by bullies," he admitted, looking as if he'd swallowed something bitter, "...and except for a few old acquaintances, the entire Slytherin house had turned against me. I was also deemed as a potential threat for the younger students."

"I see."

"Do you?" he asked, making a mockery out of her efforts. She chose to ignore it.

"And did you display any behaviour enforcing that attitude?"

"Did I torture and maim any kids during my stay at Hogwarts, Granger? No. I kept my nose clean, did as I was asked. In fact, I had been in the middle of writing a letter to my mother when – " he stopped abruptly.

"Yes?" she pressed.

He was no longer looking at her, lost in a memory that seemed to have occurred three years into the past, holding a clue about what had really happened. She wished – how she wished that it were possible for her to retrieve that memory, but she would have to rely on spoken word alone.

"I remember now. When I collapsed, the last thing I recall is knocking over my inkpot. . . the letter had gotten soaked in black," he spoke as if in a trance, and she could make out several beads of sweat dotting his hairline, "I needed my wand to clean it up. .I'd been cursing . . .I was – why is this so hard?!" He was pressing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Was there anyone else with you?"

"No," he moaned, but his voice came out pained and lethargic – not at all what she would expect out of Draco Malfoy's mouth, "I was alone. I was always alone. There wasn't any – "

Abruptly his eyeballs rolled up into his sockets, his eyelids drooped low to cover them, his jaw fell slack and his head dropped sideways onto his shoulder. Seconds later, a soft snore escaped his mouth.

Dumbfounded, Hermione stared at his face. _H__ow in the blazes is it possible for a portrait to fall asleep so fast?_

All of a sudden, the situation felt so comical that pinched her arm to check if it was real. Taking a seat in the nearby chair, she let herself relax for a while. The sounds of him sleeping became background noise, allowing for her to piece together the few fragments of information she had collected. But if anything, it all seemed even more challengingly interlaced now. One thing was plainly apparent: this magical portrait of Draco Malfoy somehow held the answers.

There was another thing. Portraits in the magical world were all interconnected with each other, every single one adjoined to another in whatever Wizarding construction they happened to exist, or at the very least with its own twin somewhere in the world. Going by its state and placement, it didn't seem like it had been moved in for a while. And by the astonished wonder on Malfoy's face and the way he seemed so receptive to her presence, it looked as if he'd been trapped into this golden frame for ages.

Another rush of pity ran through her.

Stepping up, she lifted the surprisingly heavy portrait into straighter position. It still didn't look right. There were no markings or nails in the room for her to properly hang it on one of the walls, so she settled for lifting it by her arms and placing it vertically onto the table against the wall. This would have to do. After all, his portrait deserved some semblance of dignity in his own ancestral home.

* * *

At twenty minutes past six, she Apparated in front of her flat.

It was a small, two-roomed establishment located in the muggle part of the city, but the neighbourhood was nice and the space was more than enough for her and Crookshanks. The living room was filled with second-hand mismatched furniture and old little odds and ends from her parents' house in Australia. They had wanted them gone, and she was all too happy to take them in. The craziest thought entered her mind – Draco Malfoy's portrait would have looked good on her peach coloured walls – except that it would have been totally weird.

On her left, Crookshanks came into view to give her one superior glance and then sauntered away in the direction of the kitchen, his fluffy tail raised rigidly towards the ceiling. Hermione followed him in to fill his bowl with kibble and make herself a cup of tea.

Once she was curled comfortably in the sofa with her worn copy of _Hogwarts: a History_ open in her lap, she remembered that she had forgotten her working gloves back inside the room.

* * *

**A/N: Please let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

* * *

Hermione spent the night tossing and turning in her bed, her mind hovering at the edge of sleep. There were memories swirling inside of her…memories that seemed to belong to somebody else's life. Draco Malfoy…on her first train ride to Hogwarts…barging into her compartment, looking at her for a moment too long and dismissing her as unimportant. Malfoy calling her a mudblood for the very first time. Malfoy…making fun Ron and his family. Malfoy speeding past her on his broom in the Quidditch stands, trailing Harry while on the lookout for the snitch. Malfoy imitating her impulsive classroom habits during a Transfiguration lesson, lending life to the dreary atmosphere without even realizing it. Malfoy staring at her with an expression of alarmed curiosity as his aunt tortured her to the limit of pain, seemingly wondering what on earth she could possibly be lying about and why she was willing to die for it. Malfoy catching her eye over the glow of Fiendfyre beneath them, as they flied above the burning remains of the Room of Requirement.

Malfoy…dead.

She immediately snapped back to reality. As she sat up, she realized that her bedcovers had fallen off and her ratty old t-shirt was moist with perspiration. Her tongue scraped against her palate like sandpaper.

How could he just…die?

And how were the two deaths related, if they were at all? Where did Narcissa fit in all of this? Malfoys were stubborn, deadly weeds. One would've expected them to successfully tide over the adversities, to resist every opposition and come out alive, if not victorious.

The suspect list would run a mile long but if she really thought about it, it could just as easily have been one of the inner circle of Death Eaters nursing a long time grudge as it could be one from the Order. But why leave Narcissa alive?

The alarm clock on her side displayed ten minutes past twelve.

Suddenly, she had to leave. She had to get out of here. With her heart thudding wildly against her chest, Hermione Granger began to dress.

* * *

The Manor looked haunted at midnight. There was something eerily fascinating about magical structures in the dark, and the Malfoy Manor was a different league altogether. There were no streetlamps, no tacky overhead lighting, not even a single torch; the only lights illuminating it were the sallow moonbeams from the night sky, rendering it resplendent to her sleep deprived eyes.

Reaching the wrought-iron gates, she raised her wand in the air checking for wards installed by the Ministry. There were five. She dismantled four out of them, but subsequently noted that interfering with the fifth would immediately alert Dougharty.

Luckily, she knew how to climb. The bars weren't high enough for her to seriously injure herself if she somehow managed to slip off. She transfigured her socks into a pair of sturdy, protective gloves and began to climb. The gates creaked from her weight, swaying a little, but she chose to focus all her energy on balancing over the coiling metal patterns; there was not a soul around to hear or witness her awkward climbing anyway.

The cool spring breeze tugged at her curls and soothed her skin. Ruminating over her previous line of thought, she once again pulled out her wand, merely to satisfy herself.

"_Homenum Revelio."_

Nothing.

Oh well, it was worth a try.

The Atrium of the manor seemed to have expanded in size as she walked in through the doors or maybe it was the refractive effect of the moonlight on the crystalline dome. The metal enclosure supporting it threw zigzag shadows onto the floor and once again Hermione silently marveled over the cleanliness of the place.

The Mansion was not silent this time. It seemed to have come alive. She could hear the dull chorus of the conversations carried out between portraits, the cackling feminine laughter coming from deep inside the house. So the dead really woke up in the night. Unwilling to draw herself into their attention, she immediately cast a Disillusionment charm on herself.

_I see better from this side of the world._

Yeah, right. The ferret was a rotten liar because she passed between the corridors virtually unnoticed.

It was when she had progressed onto the first floor when things really started to go downhill.

One second she was walking down the corridor leading up to _the room_, the excuse of having forgotten her work paraphernalia on the tip of her tongue, and the next she was flattened onto the adjacent wall by an unseen force.

The ground beneath her feet rumbled with energy.

She thought, for a second, that maybe she was experiencing an earthquake. But suddenly the floor tilted at an impossible angle causing her to lose her footing and fall onto her knees.

The hallway had been perfectly horizontal a minute ago, now it was a downward slide into darkness.

She held strong against the cold walls, waiting for the anomaly to pass. She must have stepped onto some kind of trigger – a magical landmine, but that didn't explain why she was beginning to feel a little fuzzy in the brain.

Strangely enough, she could sense that it was not dark magic; just that it was entirely unfamiliar. If only she could identify the source.

"_Arghh_," she groaned, holding her head by both hands.

White spots erupted on her vision as she desperately tried to scan her surroundings. Her ears were ringing; it was like her body was undergoing a stroke. She sat down against the wall and put her head between her knees.

It stopped as suddenly as it had started.

Hermione opened her eyes just enough to check herself for any injury but realized that she was still invisible.

"_Finite incantetum." _Everything appeared to be in fine order.

A loud crack sounded in the hallway. Hermione looked up to see an elf standing there, watching her with widened eyes.

"Miss Hermione!" The elf exclaimed, before hurrying over to her. Hermione recognized her as Bitsy, the elf she had met yesterday. "Are you alright, miss?"

"Yeah," she croaked, "I'm fine. Just give me a moment."

She took several deep breaths, and meanwhile Bitsy continued to regard her with unblinking curiosity. Balancing against the stone wall, she slowly came to her feet, but the action caused them to buckle against the sudden rush of blood into her vessels, and she momentarily felt her vision darken.

However within a few seconds, it passed.

"You should not be here, Miss. The Manor is not safe at this time," Bitsy said weakly. It took her a moment to realize that there was a note of admonishment in her tone.

"I know. I just had some unfinished work inside the library."

"You are not supposed to be _here, _miss. There are dangerous things in this part of the house."

"Oh," Hermione said, not fully believing her, "I forgot my stuff in one of the rooms, I'm just trying to recall which the one I'd last been inside was."

"Bitsy will get it for you!" she blurted, "Bitsy promises she won't be long."

Hermione felt her spirits dampen slightly for no apparent reason, but she couldn't say no to the elf or she wouldn't hear the end of it.

"Alright, I'll wait here."

Bitsy gave her a cheerful smile, snapped her fingers and Disapparated with a resonating crack.

How peculiar. She hadn't even told her what she was looking for.

She imagined Draco Malfoy sleeping soundly in his regal seat, surrounded by pitch black darkness, then startling awake at the sound of Apparition. She imagined his surprise at seeing an elf rummaging through the stuff in the room and retrieving a pair of familiar looking gloves from the top of the table. Would he be able to put two and two together and realize that she was currently standing just a few feet away, hyperventilating and nearly bursting at the seams with unanswered questions?

True to her word, Bitsy appeared within a minute, with her ministry gloves clutched in both hands.

"Thank you," she said, when she handed them over to her.

"Miss looks very pale," Bitsy spoke, "Bitsy can arrange for food from the kitchens for you. I will set up a very nice dinner for the miss."

Hermione's eyebrows rose a bit at the suggestion.

Dinner alone in Malfoy Manor at nearly one in the morning? She could've never imagined that in a million years.

"Alright, I will have dinner on the condition that you join me in the Dining Hall," she said. "That doesn't just mean that you will serve me, you will actually join me for dinner."

Bitsy gulped audibly. Hermione could hardly understand why; she wasn't a remotely dangerous looking person (though, her hair did look especially frightful in the night) but she dismissed it owing to the fact that elves were decidedly strange creatures.

Bitsy led her slowly to the Dining Hall, silently lighting the Manor as they went, and it was in that moment Hermione truly felt invited.

* * *

She swallowed a spoonful of heavenly corn chowder, and her eyes nearly rolled back inside her sockets from the pleasure.

Living alone had its downsides - Hermione was no cook. She had to make do with Chinese takeway or instant recipes on the rare days that she wanted to eat something that had been prepared by her.

For twenty precious minutes, she only stuffed her face as delicately as she could, trying her best not to resemble Ronald as she did. All the while Bitsy stood silently beside her watching her eat.

"Come sit, Bitsy. Don't stand there like that. There's plenty of room," she said, indicating the eleven empty seats on either side of the huge dining table.

"Bitsy is fine, Miss."

"I insist," she said.

Bitsy remained silent and standing.

"I can't believe I have to do this, but I hereby command you to come and sit beside me. Don't make me feel like a jerk."

Bitsy smiled slightly and looked at her feet, "Bitsy needs to inform her kindness that she does not recognize Miss Hermione as her mistress. She is not obligated to obey her."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Well, fine. It's just that I wanted to talk to you, it's only fair to want somebody to be seated beside yourself."

"Bitsy is not offended."

"But you did give me something to think about," Hermione looked curiously at her, "Whom do you really recognize as you true masters though?"

"The house elves of the manor serve the ancient line of Malfoi. We belong to the Malfoy household."

"And you will continue to serve the Manor till you die, even when your masters are no longer alive?"

"Mistress Narcissa is alive."

Another surprise. "So you are aware of her whereabouts?"

"Yes, Miss Hermione."

"And that's why you're all still here?"

"We shall continue to serve until we have been willfully released by our masters."

That was horrible, but in a twisted way it did make sense. Abandoned or free house elves had a long way to go even in the modern magical society. Nobody wanted them and they had to spend their lives starving and ridden with unidentifiable diseases that came with being an elf.

"Do you know what happened to your masters, Bitsy? Do you have any idea how they died?"

"We were informed by the ministry on the day they left the world. Our masters had been cursed for their misdeeds. Some of the elves also served at the memorial service."

"Do you have any idea who cursed them?"

"Bitsy does not know."

"Were you there at the service?"

"Yes, Miss Hermione."

"And Narcissa? Was she there too?"

"Mistress Narcissa left the funeral only after a few minutes. She remained locked inside her room for days after."

"And how did she cope?"

Bitsy's eyes had begun to glisten slightly at the mention of Narcissa.

"Mistress was distraught. She did not speak. She never ate her meals on time. She neglected her roses. No one came to visit her, and she slowly became delirious."

It sounded awfully spooky coming from her mouth.

"And what happened then?"

"Someone from the Ministry come to the Manor. They inform our mistress that her house will be taken away from her and that she will be sent to St. Mungo's."

"And she agreed?"

"No, miss."

"So she told them to shove it?"

"Mistress did not reply for days, then she disappeared one night.. we could not find her anywhere, and ministry told us that she had admitted herself at the hospital."

"Did she, really?"

"Bitsy does not know."

"Wow."

Hermione reflected upon this information. She recalled the look of Narcissa Malfoy, albeit hazily. Long, proud face, delicate features, blond hair and a tall mien. The woman had been the perfect picture of a wealthy, pureblooded wife.

Had her emotional integrity been so heavily destroyed that she was forced to surrender herself to a mental ward of a hospital? Had her spine been so thawed by the ministry that she thought not once to ask Harry Potter for help?

And most importantly, was Narcissa Malfoy really mad?

* * *

Please tell me what you think!


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